


Bed and Board

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson wants Skye to think he's cool, Domestic Fluff, Eating, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Flirting, Kissing, Phil Coulson loves Skye, Resolved Sexual Tension, Secret Relationship, Sex, Skye being very direct because Phil's too busy being an idiot, Skye loves Phil, Still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:15:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a lot of denial Phil gets to work out his domestic fantasies with Skye.  A lot of feels about Phil's lack of agency and Skye being shut out, and them working through that with sex.   I don't know that it's very good, I just wanted a lot of cathartic Skoulson sex. </p><p>Title taken from the Truffaut film of the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed and Board

He knows they shouldn't do this.

It's just not very smart.

The street around him looks ordinary. Like any other.

They've had to be more careful, because, HYDRA isn't just satisfied with hunting them.

Now they're pretending to be them.

HYDRA knows about _him_ now.

This is so dangerous, so, so stupid.

He's here because he's running out of time.

Which has somehow managed to be a blessing and a curse.

Koenig runs defense for him, because Koenig follows orders to a tee.

That will be enough to scrub his trail for tonight.

He respects May, but, her focus on him, to the exclusion of all else, doesn't let him breathe, or feel in control.

And that need is what turned into this.

Just another concerned glance from her. In a long line of concerned glances.

But then, Skye touched him again.

Just a hand on his arm.

She hadn't done that in a long, long time.

All because he said he wanted to talk.

And they did, but, they also didn't just talk.

He'd forgotten there was still that current in him. That vein of electricity.

He had remembered how to breathe.

Swiping the key on the entry pad at the gate, he climbs the stairs with the bags in hand to the third floor unit.

His idea.  He'll get everything ready.

At first, he'd wanted to be the one to sneak away last, make sure that no one followed. Cover it.

But, part of the fantasy was in the preparation. The details.

He'd always been drawn to ideas of domestic bliss, because he'd had to put them away his whole life.

And Skye had insisted.

Said it was all his idea to begin with, but really, it was about him feeling in control.

The freedom to bend the shape of their circumstances to fit this moment.

Skye always saw things differently.

Unlocking the door, he steps inside and dumps the bag and the groceries on the counter.

He was here last week, but he sweeps the room anyway. Looks for hints of anything out of place.

That's what you do anyway. They're spies, after all. But now, it feels pressing.

It looks clean, so he goes under the counter and gets a vase out.

Running it under the sink, he fills it then grabs the kitchen shears and pulls the flowers out of the bag.

Gardenias.

The little symbols between them. Secrets.

Like what they're planning on doing now.

The scent is filling up the room, so he puts them out of the kitchen, hunting for a spot for them.

He decides and carries them into the bedroom.

It's a little presumptuous, he's aware.

Or maybe slightly hopeful.

That's also what part of this is about.

After all, it's not like they needed this apartment if they were just going to talk.

The sight of the flowers near the bed cheers him up and he starts humming to himself as he heads back to the kitchen.

Finishing up with the groceries he has a fleeting thought about pushing a shopping cart down an aisle with her someday.

It kind of heads south, because he's getting lost picturing her hips sway.

She's wearing a flannel shirt. A tight pair of jeans.

He doesn't allow himself these kinds of thoughts. Used to.

Because he might fall apart. He might go out just like Garrett.

But not tonight.

The tenderloin is resting out on the counter to get to room temperature.

He pulls out the celery root and starts to slice it.

It might not look like sex on a plate, but it's sure going to taste like it.

The baking dish comes out from below and the vegetable goes in there with heavy cream, some butter and nutmeg. Salt and pepper.

Then the oven beeps ready and it goes in as he dresses the table, taking out a dish towel to wipe the smudges off the wine glasses.

He uncorks the bottle, sips it, satisfied, then leaves it out on the table to breathe.

Walking to the stereo he flips through the stations until it lands on Coltrane. He smiles when he hears the soft blow of the horn.

Grabbing the duffel bag off the counter, he heads into the bedroom and dumps it on the bed, unzips.

Toiletries, a toothbrush, some aftershave, a box of condoms.

He sighs and picks up the box, slides open the nightstand, dropping them in and closing it.

Right now, he can't think of that. It's too distracting.

Unbuttoning his suit and letting his tie out, he slides it off and then goes to the closet to hang up the jacket and slips off his shoes, removes the shirt and then his dress pants, hanging them all neatly before shutting it.

He grabs the toiletries off the bed and heads to the bathroom, depositing them in a neat, organized series on the counter.

His face gets a touch of aftershave and he looks over his hair and checks his nose for stray hairs and his teeth before going back into the room.

The jeans and t-shirt come out of the bag and he slides it on over his head and pulls the dark denim on.

Padding back into the kitchen in his bare feet, he looks into the oven and then peels apart the butcher paper.

The watch reads 7:30. She should be here in half an hour.

Opening the fridge, he pops a raspberry into his mouth.

He can't wait to kiss her again.

  
***

This was his thing.

All of his doing, really.

Because he said he wanted to talk. Finally.

She'd been waiting for that. For ages. And she'd been very, very patient.

The nuns would be so proud.

Hearing about his condition, the seriousness of it, had been the most awful part. It almost made her understand why he'd hidden it all from her.

 _Almost_.

He'd just kept going, though. Talking about being afraid, about everything that would go wrong and she was starting to realize this is what he'd been saying to himself all along.

So, she just kissed him.

And he caught on pretty fast, once the initial shock wore off.

It just wasn't worth it to spend any more time on things that weren't making him want a future, much less believe he had one.

She's the twenty-something here and he should know better, but he doesn't for some reason. He's in a tricky spot.

He's a better man than this. And it's so unfair.

Not that she planned on starting an affair with her boss when she came into his office yesterday...

 _Well_.

No, she'd thought about _that_ all last year.

And now she was just kind of hurt and angry at the distance.

But there was more going on here than compartmentalization. A lot more.

She sighed looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Getting used to the bangs. It had taken awhile.

Fluffing her hair she went to her closet and put her finger to her lips, musing over what kind of idea he must have in mind for tonight.

Not that she had a lot of clothing options, but playing house with Coulson lent itself to all sorts of ideas.

Flirty and sophisticated? Something short and tight?

No.

Something easy to take off.

That made her grin ear to ear and then shiver.

He had wanted to kiss more and she'd had to be the one to talk him down.

She had the feeling that Phil Coulson was a naughty, naughty man underneath that suit.

Although this whole scenario was not her kind of party (because in the past, any attempts she'd made like this ended up with her frustrated or agitated) with him, for some reason, it excited her.

But he'd always had that effect on her.

And she knows it will do him good to feel in control. To choose this.

That's why he needs to be control.

Because if that's taken away, he questions what parts of himself are left.

It's agonizing to think of nothing of him being left in the world.

Maybe that's why she's been so on about those symbols. Like it was the one thing still connecting them.

It means something.

She wonders, tonight, who will give in first.

There is a part of her that enjoys testing him, the idea of it, especially where they're coming from at the moment.

Like pushing a reset button, in a way.

There's this dress she bought during their last visit to LA. She runs her fingers over the teal silk.

He'll get the message.

In her bathroom she throws a few things together for an overnight, like her toothbrush and some mascara.

Knowing Coulson, he has his own toothpaste with the plastic little bit that squeezed it out perfectly, so she wasn't going to worry about that.

Getting to peek into that side of him made her so curious.

Plaiting her hair she loosely braided it and wrapped a tie around it, toying with her bangs again.

Then she took off her sweat pants and tank and shimmied into the dress.

Just a few bracelets and she looks pretty enough and hopefully, very touchable.

For a moment, she imagined him on some couch (oddly, it looked in her mind's eye like one from her Rising Tide days), sliding his hand up her thigh while he made out with her, until it was lost underneath her dress.

She shivered again and tossed a flannel shirt and a pair of jeans into her overnight bag.

The phone's silent alarm went off and she pressed the button and checked the time.

It was all going down in about 30 minutes.

The next step would be to contact Koenig, and have him make an excuse that would let her sneak off base.

She realized now Coulson had been using this very same tactic fairly early on.

Now she was privy to it.

She wanted all the secrets between them to go away.

For him to be in control.

And then give it up.

 

***

 

There was a knock at the door and he opened it.

They stood there for a moment staring at each other awkwardly.

"Honey, I've had such a long day," she said, loudly, stepping forward and kissing him on the cheek.

She was holding the high heeled shoes in her hands, having given up after walking up three flights.

He kissed her back on the cheek, and stepped aside to let her in.

"How about a foot rub?" she asked, glancing around the apartment.  "Third floor.  Must have a nice view."

It looked very lived in.  Books and magazines, a wrinkled throw on the couch.

He had been busy.

"We could," he said, considering it, following her into the living room as she dumped her shoes and bag on the couch.

"But if we start that now, we'll never get through dinner."

He smiled at her very sweetly.

"You're not kidding, are you?" she asked, holding back a smile as she picked up the Truffaut DVD case.

"No."

Lacing her fingers with his, she headed to the kitchen pulling him after.

"And what culinary delights were you planning on tempting me with tonight?" she asked.

"Let's see," he said standing behind her, running his hands over her arms.

"I like this dress, it's soft," he said, intensely distracted.

He leaned over and kissed her neck, his hands sliding down to slip against the silk at her hips.

" _Skye_."

It came out a little desperate sounding.

"Are you sure we're not having _me_ for dinner?" she asked with a laugh.

"I'd love to," he whispered fervently, nibbling at her ear.

She tried to laugh, but it caught with her breath.

"You're not wearing a bra."

He says it with such excitement, his hands on the point of discovery.

"I'm not wearing anything underneath..."

He tipped his head back and sighed.

"Didn't see the need for any unnecessary obstructions," she added playfully. "But," she said, spinning around backing away.

"I want to eat _and_ flirt. Because we've barely had a real moment in these past six months and I'm going to take advantage of it."

"Dinnerdinnerdinner," he said like a mantra, walking towards the table. "Can I get you a glass of wine?"

"Sure," she said, nodding as he headed for the table. "Why this particular wine?"

"Because," said animatedly, "When you try it with the food..," he poured and gave the bottle a little twist.

"It's going to stir up feelings. Not unlike the kind I'm going to give you later," he added cheerfully.

He handed her the glass.

"That good, huh?" she said, taking it.

"I'm hopeful," he answered with a sly smile.

Turning he headed to the kitchen as she took a sip and watched him.

"Your ass looks great in those jeans," she said, propping up her bare legs on the table.

He chuckles.

"Thanks. Is that the sort of thing that captures.. Your, you know...?"

He bends over after grabbing the mitts to get the food out of the oven.

"Yours has me more than a little curious," she says, stretching her arms behind her. "After hiding out under those suits."

He leaned against the counter with an elbow, stared at her legs and adjusted himself.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Tight fit."

"Mmm. Don't be."

"So," he said, walking towards her and pouring himself a glass of wine.

"So," she answered. "A toast?"

"Good idea," he said.

He raised his glass and touched it against hers while he slid his free hand down her leg, watching it trace over the contours.

"Coulson," she said, jerking slightly. "Dinner?"

"It's resting," he said politely, biting his lower lip. "Makes it even better."

"Does it?" she asked, putting her hand on top of his and sliding it further down her leg until it touched the hem of her dress.

"I'll go check," he said suddenly.

He comes back for their plates, leaves again, comes back with two very fancy looking pieces of meat on a stack of some delicious smelling vegetable thing and even a little rosemary sprig on top.

"This is beautiful," she said delightedly as he puts it down in front of her.

Sitting down across from her, he shrugs and they both start to dig in.

Skye sighs in contentment, stares back at him even more aroused.

"You can say it, if you want," he says smugly.

"You're good," she says, with a bit of cheek. Takes another bite.

He's looking very pleased with himself, fork and knife working away.

So she slides back in the chair and her foot finds its way up his leg and pressed against his crotch.

"What's this music?" she asks.

"Coltrane," he says, with a swallow.

"I like it, too."

He closes his eyes and presses his tongue against his teeth as she wiggles her toes.

"You're not talking very much, Phil."

"I've got chocolate and raspberries for dessert," he said, the muscles working under his jaw.

"Besides," he says, opening his eyes to gaze at her. "I talk a lot in bed."

She can't help but smile.

"I like chocolate and raspberries," she says, withdrawing her foot.

 

***

 

They skip the chocolate and raspberries.

They get into the very domestic idea of doing the dishes together for about two minutes.

Long enough to run the soap under the water, long enough for him to stand behind her, long enough for their soapy hands to begin sliding against one another under the water as he dotted kisses down her neck.

Then he was pushing her up against the sink, soapy bubbles wetting the front of her dress, pressing the front of his jeans to her bare skin as his hands lift her dress.

"I want you," he said into her ear.

"For how long?" she asks, catching his eyes over her shoulder.

He bites down on it, not painfully, sucks.

"The truth?"

He waits for a moment, but knows that's exactly what she wants as she leans back into him.

"When you said you thought you kind of liked my style. I was so fucking turned on."

She laughs, thinking about that moment. It was so innocent in her mind.

"I just thought you were cool," she says, turning around to nudge his mouth with hers, pulling away when he tries to kiss her.

"Yeah," he agrees. "That's the part that turned me on."

"Really?" she asked, tilting her head at him. "Because, I _totally_ think you're cool."

She runs her hand up under his shirt, feeling up his chest, even as he flinches at her hand sliding over his scar.

"It doesn't bother me," she said, against his mouth.

"Okay," he said, chasing her mouth and sliding his tongue over her lips.

As she went for the front of his jeans with her hand, unbuttoning him and running a hand up and down him, her lips parted and she kissed him as she worked him over.

"I'm gonna come, Skye," he said, running out of breath.

She pulled her hands away and set them against the counter, her chest falling and rising.

"Not yet."

He pressed his forehead against hers, tried smiling.

"C'mon, I have something I want to show you."

Grabbing her wrist, he pulled them away from the sink and into the bedroom.

There were candles lit everywhere and she was hit with the scent of flowers when he opened the door.

Turning towards her, his thumb brushed against her cheek, her jawline.

"No more secrets," he said, looking down at her.

"No."

Exploring her mouth softly, he tipped her face up towards his.

"Can I...undress you?"

"Yes," she smiled.

He slid the silk down over her shoulders, slowly, down the curve of her waist, over her hips, fingertips teasing her along the way.

She took apart her braid, shaking her hair loose as he watched, then she stepped out of the dress pooled at her feet and pushed her hands up under his t-shirt, against his chest, until he was leaned back against the bed, his shirt worked half way up his stomach.

Kissing him again forcefully, she yanked his jeans down just past his hips.

Raking her nails over the hair trailing from his chest down to his navel, she watched him squirm.

"Come here," he said, grabbing the back of her head and pulling her against him.

They kissed messy and wet until she reached for his shirt and pulled it up and over his head, tossing it away.

Straddling him with her hips, she ran her hands over his naked torso, over his scar.

"I love. Your ridiculous. Body," she said, as she leaned forward and touched her mouth to his.

He moaned and pulled her against him and then pushing her away to slide his jeans and boxers off.

"This," she said, stroking him, "Is going inside of me, right?"

"Definitely," he gasped.

He shifted his weight and pressed his fingers against her wrists before kissing her and sliding them to lock their fingers together.

"I want you, too, Phil," she said, looking into his eyes as he pressed her hands up against the headboard.

Stopping himself he leaned over and stretched to pull the nightstand drawer out, tossed a pack of condoms on the table.

"Do you like the room?" he asked genially, fumbling into the box.

"The flowers are incredible," she said, looking around.

More of his personality was on display.  The artwork, black and white photographs of intense close ups and abstract soft washes of color.

"You went to a lot of effort," she said, touching his hip.  "Thank you."

She could see the nervous tension in him as he tried to take the condom wrapper apart.

Her hand closed over his, took the condom out of his hand.

"Do you believe me, when I say that I want you?"

"Yes," he nodded, then confessed. "I'm just...not sure why."

Unrapping the condom, she got on her knees and rolled it over him, stroking him.

"Why don't you let me show you, then?"

"Okay."

Letting her hand slide up his neck, she kissed him slowly, guiding him gently, feeling him tremble slightly and his mouth open under hers.

"Don't be so proud," she teased, twisting her wrist to pull a moan out of him.

"I feel like I've failed you," he starts talking. "And all I have left to give is..."

"This," she said, leaning back, and pulling him with her, on top of her. "Is what I want. Give me this."

"You have to know, how much I...," he shuts his eyes, not wanting to get overwhelmed with emotion.

"Show me," she said, kissing him lightly on the lips.

His hand slips between them, his fingers sliding into her, thumb making small circles.

She arches up against his hand as he watches her move beneath him, completely enraptured in his hand pleasing her.

He kisses her once before sliding down and running his mouth across her nipple, sucking it between his lips, using his teeth to make her moan.

Then his breath dusts over the scars on her belly, the memories come back to him, the way he felt about her then.

Those feelings had never gone away, he'd just buried them.

"Oh, Skye," he said, kissing her scars.

"It's okay," she said, fingers caressing his scalp.

"I'm just realizing...," he started. "Nevermind. I'll just show you."

He makes her come with his mouth and then again with his hand, while he slowly kisses her. Whispers her name. Tells her how much he loves her.

"I have a request," he says quietly, when they've both been still for a moment.

"As it turns out, I'm taking requests tonight," she said, slowing down her breaths, touching her hand to his face.

"Will you...," he lowers his eyes. "Be on top? Make me come like that."

"As long as you know," she said, running her finger down the bridge of his nose. "That I might ask you to do the exact same thing later."

"Sure," he said, looking over her face and then leaning forward to kiss her.

She snaked her leg into his and then flipped them over.

He laughed a little at that as she pinned his wrists to the bed.

"You like that, huh?"

"Yes."

She sat back into his lap and let go of his hands.

They went to her hips as she ground down against him and then she stopped, taking his hands and pushing them back against the mattress.

He was about to protest until she circled her hips on him again.

"Tell me what you want," she said, leaning over him.

"I want you to ride me," he whispered against her neck.

She arched her back and got to her knees, stroking him before sliding her knees apart and lowering herself down the length of him.

" _Oh_..oh, Skye."

Watching his face as she worked her hips over him, he reached out a hand to touch her as she leaned away.

"More?" she asked with coy expression.

"Yes," he begged.

She rocked against him, pressing her hands up against his chest.

"Faster?" she asked, but she didn't really wait for his reply.

His hips were pushing up against her, hands holding her in place so he could move under her, get more friction.

She leaned over him, her hair brushing against his shoulders.

He had a pained expression, his eyes shut tight.

"Let go, Phil."

His arms wrapped around her, as he slowed down, she kissed his chin, then his mouth, still moving her hips over him in demanding, gentle strokes.

"Let go."

He squeezed her against him and she watched him come, blissfully saying her name over and over.

She realized she'd seen him like this once before.

 

***

 

"I could get used to this," she said, coming back into the room from the kitchen wearing just his t-shirt.

She put the plate down on the bed next to him, rasperberries with little squares of chocolate dotted in between.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took a piece of chocolate off the plate and fed it to him as he smiled raising his eyebrows.

"I'll even do your laundry," he said, chewing.

"Now _that's_ sexy," she said with a laugh, eating a raspberry.

He turned onto his back with a sigh, looked over at her, watching.

"I've been in love with you for a long time," he said, reaching out to touch her hair.

"I think I realized that," she said, running her hand along his arm.

"This...is not going to last," he said, pulling away. "I need you to understand that. Or, I can't keep going."

She frowned and took the plate away, putting it on the nightstand, scooting closer to him.

" _You_ need to understand," she said, leaning over him. "That I'm not giving up. On any of it."

"I don't want you to see me that way," he said, sitting up at her defiant expression. "To have to watch..."

"Whatever that is, what it's doing to you, that's not how I see you. How I'll _ever_ see you."

"You say that now, but..."

He gave up, a conciliatory smirk, seeing the fierceness in her face.

"And the idea that you actually thought you could hide it from me?"

He flashed his eyes at her, wearing his guilt.

"I'm not talking about all your stupid secrets, Mr. Director. _That_ is business. _This?_   Is personal."

"Okay." 

His thumb traced over her mouth and he leaned to the side and reached for the plate between them, taking a raspberry and sliding it between her lips.

"I got rid of levels," he said with a smirk.

Her tongue swirled around the berry before taking it into her mouth.

"That's really hot," she concedes, sucking on it.

"What else have you been up to?" 


End file.
